


Blustering Storms And Wet Beds

by Toozmanykids



Category: British Actor RPF, Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Mutual Masturbation, Nudity, Playing Doctor, Sexual Roleplay, Storms, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toozmanykids/pseuds/Toozmanykids
Summary: When a neighbor like the newly divorced Dr. Laing comes crashing into Jennifer Redmond's life, she learns how exciting a little imagination and courage can be.
Relationships: Robert Laing (High-Rise)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 54





	1. Fencing Intervention And Divining Skills

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add more tags as we go.  
> All mistakes are mine.  
> I'm so excited to hear what you think!! 
> 
> Oh, and the chapter title is not a grammatical or spelling error. :-)

Jen peeked out from behind the sheer curtain in her bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of her neighbor out for his morning swim. A strong believer in healthy lifestyle with smart food choices and regular exercise, he faithfully adhered to his routine and particularly enjoyed taking his private dips into the pool in the nude. A long narrow lap pool ran the width of his backyard, perfectly secluded from any trespassers or nosy neighbors with an eight foot privacy fence encircling the entire backyard.

Well... Until a month ago it was hidden from all of his neighbors. Now Jen had a clear view of his back patio and everything he chose to bare there.

Jen had never considered herself to be an earlier riser, but the Adonis next door did and he gave the best show in town at the break of dawn. Some days as she watched she even considered joining him, but the toasty mug cradled in her hands and the hot creamy coffee slipping down her throat distracted her without fail any time such active thoughts crossed her mind. Besides, her quiet bedroom allowed her to concentrate on his presentation and form. It would be a shame, a crime even, to not observe such a beautiful man as his morning wood led him straight to the pool. With a divining rod as big as his, he daily located moisture without fail - an impressive track record to go with such a remarkable rod.

The lewdness of his naked body absolutely delighted her, watching him bend and stretch, and the quick set of push ups to fire up his arm muscles before diving out of view with a splash was her favorite part of the show. It kept her on the edge of her seat counting how many times his cock kissed the cold rough concrete, imagining how much deeper he could lower his body down if he had something warm and moist to bury his fat cock into.

Mornings started off with a bang nowadays, and Jen couldn't be happier.

A month ago the first big spring storm of the season left behind extensive damage throughout the neighborhood. Several large trees came down, including a very large mulberry tree on the Laing property next door. The wind uprooted the tree and knocked it right over onto her property. Its large wide limbs sadly pulled down her favorite maple tree and the two dogwoods outside her bedroom windows. The eight foot privacy fence between properties was crushed into splinters, hence the glorious full view of her neighbor's back side that she now enjoyed each morning since.

The Laings had a beautiful back patio, straight out of a design magazine.

And Dr. Laing's back side..... God, he had a perfect ass. It was impossible to look at it and not be aroused, especially as he exercised there in full view from her bedroom window.

His cock got harder the longer he dragged out his pre-swim stretches, so obviously he knew she watched him every morning without fail. The mischievous smile he wore suggested that he looked forward to his morning routine as much as she did.

They had discussed the logistics of rebuilding the fence several times, but the project stayed stagnant while several other tasks took precedence. Neither parties complained and only approached the subject on the pretense that privacy was a concern. Both, in truth, found the lack of privacy trivial in the shadow of bigger issues, and rather enjoyed the scandalous exposure and forbidden boundaries beckoning to be crossed.

The first claim Jen and Dr. Laing sent to their respective insurance companies was to fix her roof which received the most damage from the mulberry tree. One of the large limbs shot straight through her roof and skewered her bed. Fortunately she had already evacuated to the basement to ride out the storm before her place of rest was so brutally defiled.

Most good stories about self discovery follow a pattern such as this, do they not?

'Discovery thou true self born from the ashes of destruction.'

'Out of the ruins of chaos shall rise the greatness that was meant to be yours.'

'Take care ne'er complain of too little, lest ye learn the burden of too much.'

In other words... After whining about the drought last summer, it was on that fateful stormy night her bed became wetter than ever before and filled with more wood than she could handle in a single lifetime.

(Jen's insurance claim processor stayed awkwardly silent when she said this - the uptight prudish miser. He had no sense of humor.)

..................

Surprisingly or not, Jen had never spoken with the mysterious Dr. Laing before that night. She had chatted a few times with his wife, Karen. That woman was a piece of work, leaving Jen with little interest to meet whoever might have willingly married such an unpleasant woman. Besides, he was rarely home enough to offer such opportunity, living the busy life of a hot shot surgeon apparently. Then again, who could blame him staying away when that woman was home waiting for him.

The neighborhood gossip mill whispered that the couple had a final falling out that Christmas resulting in a quick divorce. The entire first week of the new year a moving truck and multitudes of boxes filled the driveway confirming the rumors. Melodramatic yelling and obnoxious door slamming also whittled away any modicum of discretion the couple may have hoped to keep.

Every week since the wife left a workman's truck of some sort parked in the driveway with someone hammering or sawing away from morning to night. In the first week of March a For Sale sign went out in the yard, only to have it buried two days later in a surprise ice storm that blanketed the Tri-County Area with three inches of ice. Power lines went down along with tree limbs and all types small outdoor structures like arbors, sheds, and gazebos. The whole neighborhood was without power for five days.

Surprise ice storm... How anyone was ever surprised by an ice storm in March, Jen could never understand. Three springs in a row she's had to replace the gutters on the south side of the house, all due to surprise ice storms in March. The first year the weight of ice build up ripped the whole length of gutter right off the house, leaving the nails behind still stuck in the eaves.The next two years fallen tree limbs damaged parts of the gutter system and knocked the same drain spout clear off. The grandson of another neighbor kindly helped her reattach everything that third spring. He did a great job all around and this season everything stayed intact. He also helped with several other jobs she needed around the house.

Yes. He had good assets and hands in her house.  
No.... He was a good ass to have around the house.  
No... He was a good asset to have handsy around the house.  
ON HAND!!! ON HAND AROUND THE HOUSE!  
Oh for fucks sake! That's a whole different chapter of her life. Jen can't get caught up thinking about him anymore. He's gone. She has other distractions to press onto now.  
*Groan! ...to press on to. Moving forward!

............

The For Sale sign next door came back out several weeks later, first weekend of April, after Dr. Laing finished cleaning up the mess in the yard left by the ice storm, but the Fates had a twisted sense of humor when it came to the good doctor. Three nights later his heavily wooded property was decimated again. In fact, that night was the very first time Jen ever spoke with the shy and reclusive Dr. Robert Laing, and the meeting couldn't have been under more unusual circumstances.

'It was a violent stormy night that the good doctor and his prize lumber came crashing into my life.'

Jen giggled to herself trying to come up with more synonyms and innuendos to describe the doctor's glorious cock as she sipped her coffee waiting for him to finish his laps. She savored the anticipation to oogle him drying off beside the pool.

'Phallic idol.'  
'Heavy pipe.'  
'Hard wood.'  
'Loaded cannon.'  
'Prized lumber....' That was her favorite metaphor she yad come up with so far. It was perfect, considering his giant 40 foot tree had impaled her bed.

'Yes,' Jen admitted to herself, 'l am more than just a little obsessed with my neighbor's cock. But you can't buy ones as good as his from online stores.' With a sigh, her head rested on the window unconsciously timing her respiration to his as he methodically came up for air once every four strokes... Such perfect strokes.

'Fuck. I've fallen as hard as his goddamn tree did, haven't I? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!' She fretted every morning that her psyche might have been better off letting the tree impale her in bed rather than trying to get this man out of her head.

'I should've known better.' Same scold, different day.

Pushing such pessimistic ruminating concerns out of her mind, Jen turned around and looked at the toys laid out at the foot of her brand new four poster oak bed. Straightening the blankets and fluffing the pillows, she smiled. She'd always dreamed of having a grand bed like this, so she couldn't truly curse his tree in all honesty.

A loud bang harshly reverberated through the walls of her house, leaving Jen startled and her heart racing, but a knowing smile also spread across her face at the sound before she turned around.

"You need to fix the hinges on that door so it closes more gently. Sounds like the house will collapse every time it closes."

The towel barely covered the divine rod that so rudely pointed at her from the doorway of her bedroom. Water droplets still glistened on his chest and even a short style cut couldn't stop those damp curls from crowning his head.

"I wish you would actually use that towel to dry yourself. You're getting my floor all wet." Jen tried to sound scolding, but lost the stern tone when the towel dropped.

He smiled and moved the towel in circles with his foot to mop up the puddle he'd made.

"Is that all that I've gotten wet?"


	2. Riders On The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen's mysterious neighbor, the reclusive Dr. Laing storms into her life. How careful does she need to be handling this fragile basket case full of eggs who won't speak about what just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On 8/14/20 I added an intro paragraph to provide a smoother transition of time between Chapter one looking back at Chapter 2 which occurred a month prior. What do you think? Does this first paragraph help?

That fateful night that started the tailspin of Jen's life felt longer than just a month or so ago. The good doctor and his prize lumber crashed into her home like a whirlwind amidst the first violent thunderstorm of the season. Whether or not an actual twister touched down in the area or not, she pleasantly remembered a lot of touching down in her basement.

When The National Weather Service puts out an alert for a Heavy Thunderstorm Warning coupled with a Tornado Watch, a normal person hunkers down to ride out the storm in the safety of their home and pays close attention to the TV or radio for any possible changes. So like a normal person, Jen grabbed her pillow and favorite blanket to go down to the basement when it was time for bed. Curled up with a book on an old bean bag chair leftover from college, she dozed off safe for the night - best to just start off downstairs than sleep through any actual Tornado Warnings or worse, wake up too late like Dorothy did.

Jen knew she'd never find her way home in such a scenario. Fancy slip-ons rarely fit her weird feet. She would be stuck in Oz forever - just another recurring nightmare filled trauma due to ill fitting shoes. She needed that like another hole drilled in her head and those dreams left her with morning headaches worse than concussions.

The thunderstorm that night was particularly violent. One lightning strike sounded so close that the whole house rattled. The sound was terrifying even from the basement; Jen pictured half the house had been ripped away. Moments later another strike hit close by, immediately followed by a loud explosion and the power went out. A nearby transformer likely blew or hopefully that's all it was.

Although she jumped at the loud noises from the storm as any normal person would, her heart did a triple axel flip when a man burst through her basement door soaked to the bone - a madman shouting into the dark. Light entered through the open door sporadically from the lightning flashes that flooded the ground floor above. The unwaning intensity of the storm revealed a hunched over silhouette stopped at the top of the steep basement staircase. Gangly limbs supported its weight on the railing with awkwardly bent elbows and knees, leaning precariously forward to crane its neck down low and scan the basement for any presence. Its movements looked surreal and erratic like a stop motion scene filmed on celluloid, backlit only by the wrath of the storm and it's violent light show.

"Hello! Hello! Miss Redmond!! Are you down here? Is anyone here?"

"Dr. Laing?" Even with a sleep addled brain this was a safe assumption considering the only British people she knew in town lived next door. The accent was thick and unmistakable, sounding particularly foreign and out of place emitted from the darkness within this private space certainly not furnished or presentable for entertaining guests.

"You're alright?!" But his intent wasn't clear. Did he ask if she was hurt or demand confirmation that she wasn't?

Turning on her flashlight, she found the voice's source; carelessly blinding him in the process. Dr. Laing looked even more frenzied than he sounded, his pale face looking ghostly and reflecting the offensive light beam back at her. He shouted curses and his hands flew up to his face. Stumbling back a few steps he could've tumbled down the entire staircase if he hadn't caught hold of the railing just in time.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" All thumbs, she fumbled and dropped the flashlight sending the whole room into darkness again, apart from irregular flashes shining through the doorway from the storm. That little light barely extended past the top half of the stairs.

"I asked: Are... You... Alright? Are you hurt? Are you safe? Where are you? Fuck! I can't even see where the stairs end."

"Yes. Yes, I'm alright," calling out. "Are you?" Once she found the ON button again, she aimed the light at the floor in front of him this time, properly illuminating a path in order to lead him safely to her.

"Be careful where you step there; it's slippery. There's about an inch of water in the middle there. Damn sump pump stopped again. Watch out for those boxes; they're sitting on top of wood pallets. I trip every time I'm down here."

Once his eyes clued in on her sitting in the far corner, he was across the room in two strides with the grace of a heron stepping through the tall grasses in a marshland, clear over all the hazards she just listed. He dropped to his knees in front of her now at level with her position only inches away, face to face. He grabbed her arms with familiarity, although all social steps had been skipped between this intimate concern and their occasional hellos. His eyes were expectant, although Jen had no idea how to react.

"You're not bleeding!?"

Again his tone was unclear but she still answered, "No," as he roughly manhandled her like a frantic mother would looking for injuries on their naughty toddler.

Then to her surprise, unlike the chiding smack upside the head she oddly half expected, his arms engulfed her in a tight bear hug.

"Dr. Laing! What's wrong? What happened? Please! What's wrong? Are you alright?"

He didn't answer her but just squeezed tighter. She felt his heavy breathing with his face buried into her neck. Considering that they were barely acquainted aside from a polite nod or wave when they couldn't pretend not to see the other, Jen could only assume that something had truly scared him.

So like any compassionate human being, she just hugged him in return. She rubbed his wet back and comforted him, reassuring him that they were both safe now and everything would be fine. Something bad had happened most definitely damaging the house; she just hoped they each had a house still standing when the storm finished its run of terror.

At some point she started rocking him a bit, or maybe she was just rocking herself for comfort. Violent cracks of thunder continued to shake the house and her bones. She never considered herself fearful of storms, but even a person with nerves of steel would find themselves tense sitting through this hell raining down.

Water still clung to Dr. Laing and Jen wasn't dry anymore either. They both needed towels and dry clothes before he inevitably would begin to shiver. Her afghan blanket wasn't helping much, soaked by this point as well. 

But she waited.

She just held him and appreciated the closeness; not being alone during the storm felt good. 

So good.

They may not have been well friendly, but she'd have to be blind not to notice how handsome he was.

God, what an understatement that was! 

Droplets of water still dripped down the back of his neck. Even cut short his hair was curling with the water. Her fingers refused to behave and snaked up to tease and scratch at his wet scalp.

Dr. Laing didn't say anything nor did he let go, but nuzzled his nose a little deeper into her hair and squeezed a little tighter as he took a deep breath in and slowly released it, surely unaware how the wave of hot air swirled around the back of her head and affected her.

He was divorced after all.

He came to her.

He embraced her. If he wanted to be alone, would he be in her basement holding her?

"Thank you." 

She merely hummed in response. He'd whispered it so softly she might have imagined it, but when his long wet limbs released their hold, she knew the moment was over. 

"I'm so sorry. I... " He took several deep breaths and stood, looking everywhere around the room but at her, even though there wasn't much to see in the dark. 

The flashlight still sat on the floor beside them, forgotten until now. It randomly shined a single line across the floor illuminating a rusty metal shelf loaded with old boxes and a dusty collection of colored bottles. A couple old French posters covered the wall behind her, curling up at the corners that couldn't be held flat in the humid basement.

He unconsciously murmured, "Le Chat Noir. Tournée du Chat Noir," with a distracted smirk as though his mind was trying to ground itself in the familiar. One would have to live in a cave to not have seen that poster on a wall at some point in their lives.

"You speak French," she awkwardly stated the obvious, internally berating herself. Whether he didn't hear or ignored her made no difference; his voice still flustered her.

Jen watched his long fingers rake through his wet hair several times; the short curls evaded every attack to tame them. Her eyes inadvertently followed his hands as he tugged and readjusted his clothes, pointlessly trying to smooth out wrinkles. His wet trousers clung to his legs leaving little to the imagination. A quick twirl would have shown her how perfectly they'd been custom tailored to his well toned physique, but now was not the time for such crass objectification. 

"It's okay. It's a nasty storm. Can you tell me what happened?" 

He began stammering, holding back just as words waited to be said. His white dress shirt stuck to his skin completely transparent with a thin black tie still knotted tightly, but the dirt smeared across his torso hinted to a more complicated story than just getting caught in the rain. Rubbing his arms from the chilly basement air settling on his skin, he found a tear down the back of his right sleeve. Seemingly startled, he stopped to pull at the hole in confusion as though he didn't remember it ripping.

"Are you hurt?" Jen kept her voice soft and low.

"No." His voice was soft and calm, the opposite of who first barreled into her home. 

His hands floated down to his sides as he turned his face to her. She couldn't read his expression at all besides nonthreatening, almost blank.

Had he just noticed her?

His gaze blatantly dropped to her chest.

"I got you all wet."

Well if she wasn't wet before, looking at her like that definitely did the trick. Restraint, moral compass, self-conscious inhibitions, modesty, any concern for appropriate versus inappropriate behavior all flew out the window to drown in a rain puddle.

Jen looked down to see her pale peach button down nightshirt just as soaked and see through as his. The dark areola surrounding her nipples, clearly visible, looked especially pretty in contrast to the glow and shine the second skin of cotton held in the low light leaking from the flashlight's beam. The shirt clung to her breasts on all sides after being smashed against the wall of his chest.

Whether because of that same chilly basement air or the erotic feeling of being looked at under such an awkward circumstance, her puckish nipples fought against the shirt trying to rip through the fibers for attention.

Without attempting to cover herself up, she just looked back at him with a straight face, as matter-of-fact as she could hold.

"Well your clothes aren't hiding much either."

The bewildered look on his face was priceless. Today must have really sent this guy through the wringer. He deserved some release from all that stress still coursing through his body.

And Jen...? Well, pleasure and stress relief became her mantra in life a long time ago. How ungrateful not to partake in a gift from the gods dropped right into her lap, so pretty all sopping wet and begging for comfort.

Her eyes dragged down his body until halfway they stopped and focused on the growing bulge perfectly outlined laying along his left thigh, getting longer as he watched her calm mask crack and fall away. A tiny smile creeped onto her face and her eyebrows rose. Absently her tongue danced acrose the edges of her teeth and a tiny little grunt slipped out.

His hands didn't fidget anymore; his arms dangled from his broad shoulders waiting for instructions. His daze faded away, revealing a man in the know recognizing the look in her eye, even if it had been a couple years since he'd seen anything on a woman's face beside disdain and resentment. A smile broke across his face like he'd just been offered as much cake as his heart desired, and in all truth she just had.

"Dr. Laing? I think you should take those off." Leaning back and wiggling her butt deeper into the bean bag chair; her knees spread far apart. "Whatever apocalypse is upstairs will still be just as traumatic later as it is now....Slowly now, Doctor. We've got all night. Leave the tie on."

Her hand slipped between her legs in full view for him and firmly petted, rubbed, and scratched her kitty through her matching peach cotton pants. Her other hand caressed her breast where the cotton clung to her skin, lifting it, weighing it from underneath, and brushing over the top where its fullness rose and fell as she breathed. One finger then trailed down her cleavage disappearing under her shirt, rubbing and scratching her sternum, teasing that more skin hid out of sight.

The pajama set she wore was large on her, boxy in cut and reminiscent of what she remembered her grandfather wore, or the husbands in 1950s sitcoms when married couples slept in matching twin beds. She had collected several sets like this over the years, loving the cool feel of the thin cotton used back then, like sliding under the soft sheets of a freshly made bed. Most of all, the naughty impulses she felt wearing such conservative sexless items had seduced her years ago. The faux modesty gave her a perverted thrill when she toyed with all her curves waiting to be discovered underneath.

Her hand returned to specifically play with her nipple through the damp fabric which added an extra tactile sensation that oscillated between not enough and too much. Her fingers pinched and tugged, ran circles around the now hard raised button that should have been labeled 'Fun' or 'Flick Me'. The longer she played with it, the more she desired him to suck on it and do the same to its twin.

She had told him to go slowly, but impatience changed her mind. Too many buttons on that white dress shirt still covered too much of his skin; his focus was compromised watching her. Each time she exhaled with the tiniest whimper his fingers paused in distraction until she prompted him to continue. Her finger pointed with a little twirl and dance to speed things up. The good doctor complied and the last button popped off, flying over to the other side of the room.

He wasn't a hairy guy, but he was a grown man. He was very much a man with a perfect smattering of hair that spread across his chest then down the center all... the... way... down... disappearing right where he needed to start unbuckling that belt. Once his shirt was off her eyes zoned in on the perfect circles of sparse little hairs that grew around his nipples, such pretty little pink nipples.

"I'm going to lick every inch of your chest tonight, Doctor."

"You can call me Robert."

"No. That can wait for breakfast. Tonight I'm going to call you Doctor. 'Yes Doctor.' 'Please Doctor.' 'Whatever you think is best, Doctor.' 'I'll always do what my good Doctor Laing tells me to do.' "

In time with a dramatic roll of thunder his pants and boxers got kicked off to the side with a low growl. His large cock bounced up and stood impressively tall.

"And the doctor is hung."

That last word rolled around in her mouth until it finally dripped out like drool, leaving her jaw dropped and wagging.

"You are gorgeous. And laid out like this," he purred, his hands gesturing at the sight before him. Their dance firmly landed on her knees, grasping her joints to pull her legs apart even more as he dropped to the floor to kneel before her.

His eyes zeroed in on her hand still rubbing against her crotch. That hungry look on his face triggered her hips to thrust into her hand in reflex to how vulgar she felt. Once his tongue peeked out to swipe between his lips, she lost any dominance she tried to establish and fell into a daze watching him slowly stroke himself.

"Good god, woman! Even in this low of light I can see the wet stain soaked through your panties and pajamas."

His groan and another firm squeeze on her knee provoked her to grind her hand harder against herself.

"You like to be considered, to be watched, don't you? You like to be looked at and appreciated." He chuckled with growing confidence that resonated through the tone of his voice. "I can see it clearly now. You're just dying to be examined in detail, meticulously. That's it, isn't it?"

She watched every move he made, every muscle of his face. She listened to the low moan that exhaled out of his lungs as he leaned forward and hovered an inch above her face, one hand bearing his weight while the other pressed his cock firmly against her wet clothed pussy. He rocked against her for a moment, and then two. The tease was so delicious she felt starved when he retreated.

Sitting back Dr. Laing closed his eyes and took a deep breath and rubbed his face. Before her very eyes the man transformed into a completely different person. When he reached over to grab his shirt and put it back on, she panicked at the newly resolved expression he had painted on his face.

Jen sat up in a rush, fearful that she'd done something wrong, gone too far. Apologies and pleas tumbled out of her mouth, frantic with embarrassment and confusion. How easily the tables had turned with adrenaline now making her heart race with anxiety until he spoke again.

"Please calm yourself and sit back down."

Upright on his knees with his posture straight as an arrow, his wet shirt was beginning to dry in spots and he smoothed it out after the last button was done, lifted his collar and resituated his tie. His face looked at her with kindness, patience, compassion, and authority. His voice mirrored those qualities along with formality and professionalism.

"Miss Redmond?"

"Yes?"

Dr. Laing stood up and reached his hand out to her in offer to help her stand up as well. His hand folded around hers and held firm, a solid anchor for her to pull herself up off the floor until she was about half way, then a quick tug brought her flying into his arms.

Clearing his throat with an utterly fake cough, "Please Miss Redmond. You must forgive me." Gently holding her at arms length, he took a step back, genially motioning her over to the pool table.

There he stood in his dress shirt smoothed tight across his chest and buttoned perfectly until the bottom where the last one had popped off earlier. His face hid any effect her close proximity might have caused him - he did have such a pleasant bedside manner - although his fat solid cock rudely peeked out at her from behind his shirt tails.

Jen had never been so fucking turned on in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're not mad. These cliff hangers aren't on purpose..... Not necessarily. They just happened naturally. But a chance to edge my readers is impossible to resist, so I admit that I didn't fight or argue with the muse. Sorry. I promise the next chapter will provide satisfaction. I promise!
> 
> I grew up in the Midwest in the Great Lakes region. Violent hunderstorms and risk of tornadoes were commonplace. Only once I moved to Northern California did I learn how different weather is depending where you are. Hail queen of the obvious. Ha ha, I know. But I still find it difficult to truly grasp how so many of my friends here as well as my own kids haven't ever experienced a REAL thunderstorm. Even the rain is different here in California - half the time you stand in it and still don't get wet.
> 
> I'm very curious if this story has imparted to the reader what it's like to sit through violent thunderstorms without clobbering you with too many pointless details. Storms were very common growing up, several rolled through the area every season. (Well in winter the storms changed to snowstorms obviously.) I think I'll practice writing about sitting through storms a few more times, and see if i can get better at it and try different approaches. Suggestions would be fantastic!
> 
> On 7/28/20 I edited the severe typos in the smut. Should read more smoothly now.
> 
> On 8/14/20 I added an intro paragraph to provide a smoother transition of time between Chapter one looking back at Chapter 2 which occurred a month prior.


End file.
